Jerome tried to push all thoughts of Elaine out of his head as he strode toward de Soules. Damn it all, why had he kissed her? There had been no one to see it, no excuse to pretend to be lovers. Yet her slightest touch left him dunderheaded, so he’d acted on instinct.

He had to stop mooning over her and come up with a way to approach de Soules without raising his suspicions—and fast. Just as de Soules turned to him, squinting through the dark, an idea came to him.

He slowed his steps, dragging his feet through the grass and letting his body sway.

“De Soules?” he said, slurring his speech. “Is that ye, man?”

“Munro,” de Soules replied coolly, the tension in his shoulders visibly relaxing. “What are ye still doing up?”

“Needed to piss,” Jerome said, stumbling to a halt before de Soules. “My God, man, ye missed a hell of a night. King Philip invited us to dine in his tent, and let me tell ye, he was more than generous with that wine of his.”

A slow smirk pulled at de Soules’s mouth.

Good. Jerome had the man right where he wanted him—thinking Jerome was drunk, inattentive, and unaware of what de Soules was about.

“Aye, these French treat their wine like ye Highlanders treat yer whisky,” he said. “They take great pride in its strength.” He began to sidestep around Jerome, but Jerome pretended to stumble and catch himself on de Soules’s shoulder.

“I’ll tell ye this much,” Jerome went on, swaying slightly. “I’ve never kenned a Highlander to be so generous with his whisky as King Philip was with his wine. Every time I looked, my goblet had magically refilled itself. Ye should have been here, man.”

Though he kept his body loose and his words thick, Jerome sharpened his gaze on de Soules. Even in the low light, he could see de Soules considering his next words carefully.

“Aye, well,” he began slowly. “What with my estate in this area, I felt bound to check on things.”

Jerome grunted in understanding. “Of course, ye must see to yer responsibilities.” He cocked his head as if remembering something. “But I thought the King mentioned that we wouldnae be close enough to yer lands to allow ye a visit.”

Beneath his hand, which still rested on de Soules’s shoulder, he felt the man stiffen. The silence stretched for a heartbeat, then two.

“It seems ye caught me, Munro,” de Soules said at last.

Jerome’s blood turned to ice. Somehow, he willed himself to maintain his drunken act. His sword was still strapped to his belt—next to the Bruce’s declaration. If he had to, he could draw his blade like lightning, but not unless de Soules made the first move.

“Ye are right, I didnae go to my estate,” de Soules continued, his voice even.

“Nay?” Jerome replied, feigning confusion. “Where were ye, then?”

“Come, Munro,” de Soules coaxed, “what do ye think? I went looking for a whore.”

Jerome turned his sharp exhale into a chuckle. “Oh, aye? Ye couldnae simply wait to reach the French court, where I’m sure a chamber maid or widowed noblewoman would gladly lift her skirts?”

De Soules chuckled tightly. “Ah, I think ye forget that the rest of us dinnae have a bonny lass bouncing in our laps all day—and warming our cots all night. Ye cannae fault me for wanting a wee bit of pleasure, too.”

Red rage crashed over him at the comparison de Soules was drawing between Elaine and the whore he claimed to have sought that night, but Jerome tamped it down. He needed to keep his wits about him if he were to draw aught of use from de Soules.

He forced himself to make a sound of amusement. “Aye, well, ye have me there. Still, ye missed a most enjoyable evening. While ye were wiling away yer night in Amiens with some whore, we were dining with the King of France himself!”

Though King Philip had chided Jerome for his lack of knowledge about French geography, he knew enough to be certain the town of Amiens lay roughly east of where they were camped—the opposite direction Elaine had seen de Soules headed.

Jerome’s past had made him careful. Aye, he was quick to anger when he believed those to whom he’d pledged his fidelity were threatened—and even quicker when his loyalty came into question. Yet his father’s actions had taught him to be wary of jumping to conclusions—and declaring others guilty by association.

He believed what Elaine had overheard, that de Soules was involved in some plot to countermand the Bruce’s efforts. But it was possible that de Soules truly had simply slipped away to visit a whore, which would put them no closer to learning what he schemed. Jerome wanted de Soules himself to prove his guilt. So he laid a careful trap, waiting for de Soules to lie again.

Just as Jerome suspected, de Soules took his bait without blinking an eye.

“Mayhap ye wouldnae be dallying with that English chit if ye kenned what these French whores are capable of,” he said.

Jerome ignored the fury that once again roared in his veins. De Soules hadn’t refuted his comment about riding to Amiens. It was enough to set off the warning bells in Jerome’s head.

Yet confirmation that de Soules schemed something wasn’t enough. The man had yet to make a move against Jerome, either to steal the Bruce’s declaration or ensure that Jerome wouldn’t get in his way if he did. Damn it all, he needed more information.

But it seemed he wouldn’t get it tonight. De Soules moved away, and Jerome couldn’t halt him again without drawing suspicion.

“Speaking of yer English chit,” de Soules said, stepping around Jerome. “Ye’d better piss quick and be back to her, else she may go looking in MacAdams’s tent for another Highlander to scratch the itch, eh Munro?”

Despite the burning rage clawing up Jerome’s throat, he forced himself to chuckle and stumble off into the copse of birches. He hummed a tune as he pretended to relieve his bladder, all the while listening to de Soules retreat to the camp and enter his tent with a soft rustle of canvas.

When he was sure de Soules wasn’t coming back out, Jerome quickly rifled through the man’s saddlebags, for he’d hobbled his horse but left his saddle on the ground nearby—likely because of Jerome’s distraction.

Naught of interest lay inside, however. With a soft curse, Jerome strode back to his and Elaine’s tent. He doubted she had done as he’d ordered and gone to sleep already, but he was glad, for repeating to her what de Soules had said would help him think through the man’s words and consider their implications. Elaine was smart and observant. Mayhap she would notice something he hadn’t.

The thought surprised him. He hadn’t placed his faith in anyone since his father’s betrayal of their Laird fourteen years past. Yet in the space of little over a fortnight, Elaine had managed to earn his trust.

Aye, just as she’d said, she was as much a part of this mess as he was. They were in it together now.